


warmth

by bonesock



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Family Planning, Fluff, POV Third Person, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, she's not actually the dragonborn it's just there for tagging purposes lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:42:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26516899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonesock/pseuds/bonesock
Summary: She’d left, and she’d taken the sun with her.  Without her closeness, there would be no summer.
Relationships: Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Ondolemar, Ondolemar (Elder Scrolls)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	warmth

**Author's Note:**

> what can i say!! i just love writing about doofs in love so very much!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> for now i'll consider this a one-shot, but i MIGHT continue the story at some point, since the prospect of writing about my beloved and her beloved having cute lil elf babies fills me with serotonin................. lmao we'll see!!
> 
> [tumblr mirror here!](https://dullgraves.tumblr.com/post/629543152551903232/warmth-ondolemar-x-foc)
> 
> [my ocs](https://dullgraves.tumblr.com/myocs) ; [arya's biography](https://dullgraves.tumblr.com/arya)

The chambers echoed with the gale of falling platters. Ondolemar startled awake and watched the scattering; beef tendons laid limp aside leeks and blushing eggplants and tomatoes bruised blue. The plate rolled and settled, and the floor dug its cold tendrils in his bare feet as he hovered the ground. Through the darkness and the rock, an unmistakable honey-colored reflex caught the air, and he recognized her presence through it alone. His muscles eased, and he relaxed into the bedside. “ _Must_ you scare me at every given opportunity?”

“It was an accident. I was trying to _surprise_ you. Wouldn’t have happened if you’d just finish your food,” she taunted. A smile teased her lips, and she gathered the wayward food ‘til her arms grew heavy with meat and vegetables. “Your appetite’s leaving you.”

“Yes, well, pardon my fleeting hunger. I was far too _concerned_ to eat.”

Dirt and smudged grime imprinted her clothes, and she languidly stripped to her smalls. All the while, Ondolemar watched her, eyes half-lidded and steady as she bared herself to naked flesh. Arya chortled, “ _Far_ too concerned, yeah? Sounds daft as anything. What’s _concerning_ to you? The other elves been bullying you, yeah? _Ah, look at that musty old fop. Can’t even grow a decent hairline, that one._ It’s all a buncha pish. Altmer superiority, yeah? Pish as anything. What’s so superior about not having any hair?”

She stood barren, now, with her clothes abandoned to the floor. The strands of her braid were a loosened mess, and her smalls were ill-fitted to her shapely curves. Ondolemar outstretched his fingers, searching for her skin between his digits. Her warmth contrasted his chill, and the sensation sent shivers to her spine. She stationed between his legs, and his head fell to her chest as either arms snaked around her waist. When he spoke, his voice muffled into her skin.

The tips of Arya’s fingernails grazed his scalp. A faint laugh escaped her. “What was that?”

Ondolemar’s lids grew heavy. Tingles traced his neck. He keened into the embrace. His voice was an indolent excuse of breath. “That’s not what I was concerned about,” he groaned.

“Oh, yeah? It’s something I’d be concerned about.”

“Yes, I’m sure.” His slight fingers glided the small of her back. “Come to bed.”

“You’re already tired? It’s barely midnight. I thought you were the _superior_ elf between us, yeah?”

“I _am_ the superior elf. Come to bed,” he said, firmer this time. Without protest, she retreated into the sheets. The bed creaked beneath her weight. She decorated herself in lush fur blankets. The warmth of her skin radiated onto Ondolemar’s chest, and he felt as she tossed and shuffled in his embrace. His gangly limbs coiled about her body, fingers deft and slithered into her damp flesh, as if he were some feral animal, caught to his prey. In her absence, he’d rendered himself wintry and gluttonous. He searched tirelessly for any warmth to compare; he stood around crackling campfires and ran steaming baths ‘til memory served him well. He lurked his fingers above lit stoves, willed fiery magic to his sweating palms, charred and scolded and burned the remnants of their affairs ‘til he was dedicated to retention. In her absence, he homed himself in idle fantasy. Still, the comfort of idle fantasy would never grant satiation. It was the warmth of proximity he craved. Whenever she parted, such rang true: She’d left, and she’d taken the sun with her. Without her closeness, there would be no summer.

As Arya stilled in his arms, he exhaled a deep breath. Ondolemar’s lips brushed against her back. When he spoke, his voice steadied and quelled, and each syllable reverberated on her skin. “I was concerned about you.”

“Me, yeah?”

Ondolemar curled tighter around her body, holding her as a child holds his stuffed animal when he sleeps. Whatever refrain he’d once demonstrated had long since vacated. To imagine, how easily she unzipped his frantic skin—how effortlessly she beset his undoing. He sighed, “Yes, you. Insolent girl.”

“Insolent, yeah? That’s ‘cause I called you a musty old fop and insulted your hairline and all? I didn’t mean it, y’know—was just joshing, s’all, yeah? I mean, really, I was saying that those _other_ elves might have one at you for it. But not me! I like your bald head. And I forgive you for being a musty old fop.”

“You’ve always been an insolent girl. Your insults only further prove my assertion.”

“Oh, yeah, and I’ve still got hair, yeah?”

Ondolemar’s gaunt fingers twined into her messy strands. His lips planted tender kisses to her nape, and she squirmed into his chest. The efforts were unconscious, as though his muscles repeated it with instinct. In his state of exhaustion, he hardly recognized his own actions. He’d focused himself on the graze of her skin, the feel of her caress. Desperation became him, and he imagined it, how many long and dreadful moons passed since he’d last discovered her embrace. How many ugly mornings had managed without her incessant sunlight, and how many dull nights were neglected of her hearty stupor.

Still, even in her presence, still he yearned.

He traced wet kisses atop her shoulders. “I really was concerned for you. Dawnstar’s riddled with intellectually _depraved_ Nords. I’d rather you not take extended leaves to such a place.”

“Yeah? Well, you know, the Nords don’t treat me so bad. Plus I’m really into the cold. I sweat, you know? Real bad. You know this. You’ve seen it, yeah? But it’s cold in Dawnstar. Frigid as a whole bastard. I like that. Plus, you know, maybe the Nords don’t like you ‘cause you’re bald, yeah? Just like the elves don’t like you ‘cause you’re bald.”

“Which elves are you referring to, exactly?”

“The ones from my hypothetical earlier, yeah? Those ones.”

“Ah, of course.” He sprawled onto his back, his arm extended to hold the warm body clung to his side. She nuzzled into his shoulder. He felt her smile pressed to his skin. “The Nords dislike me because they’re _inferior_ to me.”

“Oh, yeah, elven glory and all that, huh? Altmer superiority?”

“Yes, precisely.” His lips pursed. “I was being serious, Arya. I’d prefer if you didn’t go to such places.”

“Well, you can come with me next time, then, yeah? We can go around and spread those superior Altmer genes of yours.”

“Don’t jest. Those Nords don’t _deserve_ my genes.”

She snickered, “Oh, yeah. The gene pool’s gotta keep pure, yeah? I swear, that’s about as daft as anything. Can’t be all purity-this, elven-glory-that, when you give your _genes_ to a Bosmer. Like a rabbit, I swear you are. What will your Thalmor buddies say about you, then?”

“About me?”

“Yeah, when all your little nippers come out halflings?”

A smile crept onto Ondolemar’s lips, and he shielded himself in her shoulder blade to disguise this. “I wasn’t aware we planned to have children.”

“Well, no, but eventually, yeah? What else will we do to starve off the boredom?”

“Ah, of course. That’s what children do, naturally. Starve away boredom.”

Arya leaned her chest against his, their faces pressed cheek-to-cheek. She felt his breaths ghost her nose, and while astride in their closeness, she stole a few chaste kisses. “Well, yeah. You’ve seen a kid, yeah? Now, _they’re_ daft as anything. Kinda cute though, yeah? All mushy. I thought you liked mushy? You like _me,_ yeah? About as close as you can get.”

“I _do_ like you, yes.”

“Yeah? Good, then. So you’ll like a kid too, then, yeah? ‘Cause I reckon we’d make a cute one. Mushiest little tyke, yeah?”

Ondolemar’s hands trailed the back of her exposed thighs. Goosebumps emerged in the places where his fingers graced. His lips brushed her forehead. “Indeed.”

“And, you know… I probably wouldn’t have a reason to go to Dawnstar all the time. I mean, not when I’m all heavy and all, yeah? That’d _really_ be daft as anything. Nah, I’d have to stay in Markarth. I could probably make home here, yeah. Get a nice little place. I like stone just fine, really. I could make do here. So long as I have a superior elf to give me his superior genes, yeah?”

He stifled his laughter. “I see, I see. I suppose it’s something to consider.”

“Vlindrel Hall’s for sale, you know?”

“I did know, yes.”

“So we’ll buy it tomorrow then, yeah?”

“I said I’d _consider_ it, dear.”

“Well, yeah. But what else are you gonna do? Buy a house _without_ me? Give your _superior Altmer genes_ to _yourself?_ Pish. Daft as anything, you are.”

His lips trailed from her forehead to her eyelids, to her cheeks, to the soft curve of her jaw. It was an impossibility to force himself awake; his body had long subdued to exhaustion, and it was only by the sheer force of her bothersome will that he remained conscious. “There won’t be anything to consider if you don’t let me sleep, little dove.”

“Little dove, yeah? Gonna start calling you big pigeon. Real endearing, isn’t it, yeah? I’m a real romantic. Bard’s college gets you all romantic. Isn’t that right, big pigeon?”

“Do you ever sleep?”

“Ah, don’t tell me I’ve worn you out already, huh? Didn’t even do anything, neither. You really are a musty old fop.” Arya fell to her spot on the bed. “Alright, then. I’ll let you sleep. But you gotta consider it, yeah? I mean, really consider it.”

“I will consider it. Now, please. Let this _old fop_ sleep.”

“Ah, okay. I love you, musty old fop—see, it’s _musty old fop,_ yeah? Not _old_ fop. _Musty_ old fop.”

“Of course, dearest,” he sighed. “I love you too.”

“Even if I’m insolent?”

Ondolemar smile stretched ear-to-ear. He placed a final kiss on her nape. “Yes, even so.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! ⊂( ・ ̫・)⊃


End file.
